A Debt Unpaid
by DaemonCat
Summary: A spotlight on Maedhros, son of Feanor, and the unfortunate events surrounding the Deep Elves in general.
1. Debt

A Debt Unpaid

_These are almost like definitions of some terms, but they're only brief. For more in depth information, I suggest you check out Tolkien's Histories Of Middle Earth. Apart from being amazing, they're full of Elvish goodness!_

_Feanor: Guy who created Silmarils. Fiery temper, didn't know when to keep his mouth shut. Had two half brothers. Had seven sons oO  
__Fingolfin: Feanor's half brother, father of Fingon, and other less significant (in this story) kids. At one time, High King of Noldor.  
__Finarfin: Feanor's youngest half-brother, brother of Fingolfin. Wisest, kept out of the business of the rest of the Noldor and therefore ended up the most liked in general by the other elves.  
__Noldor: Deep Elves.  
__Teleri: Sea Elves.  
__Alqualonde: Swan's Haven. Place where the Noldor slaughtered a lot of Teleri in order to steal their ships. They were under the influence of Morgoth.  
__Morgoth: The guy who employed Sauron (!!!!!) Treat with care.  
__Valar: Basically gods.__Nirnaeth Arnoediad: Battle Of Unnumbered Tears.  
__Naugrim: Dwarves.  
_-

Maedhros rallied his company of elves once again. "To me! To me! brave Noldor! Remember the Kinslaying at Alqualonde! To me!"

This spurred his fighters on to a last desperate charge against their bitter foes, the foul emissaries of Morgoth, the Orcs. The Orcs were a hideous and cruel race, and they both served, and despised their Master, the Dark Lord, the Power of Fear and Hate; Morgoth.

But although Maedhros and his company fought valiantly, the Orcs were too numerous for Maedhros' significantly smaller embassy, and there were Balrogs, evil creatures of wing and flame, and their whips knew no mercy. Soon, Maedhros found that he was fighting alone, his tarnished sword burning in the dim, blood red sunset, his sea-grey eyes blazing with battle-fire. It was only a matter of time before he was overcome, though with difficulty, and many Orcs were slain trying to hold him.

Finally, he was brought before Morgoth himself, in Angband, the Iron Fortress. The Dark Lord was seated in his dark throne, and was terrible to behold. Maedhros was dragged, chained cruelly, by two uncommonly large, stupid-looking Orcs, struggling furiously. When they eventually pinned him uncomfortably between them, only the slightest quiver betrayed his fear, but his eyes were defiant, and held Morgoth's gaze.

"Well, what is this you have brought before me?" sneered the Dark Lord with an awe-inspiring voice that shook the bare stone of his shadowy halls. He spoke half to himself. "One of the sons of Feanor by the way he struggles so. Not worth much, but we'll find a use for him." Maedhros said nothing. He was indeed the eldest son of Feanor, and proud. Morgoth knew by his silence; no Elf who was not related to Feanor would keep quiet after being accused of it. He turned to Maedhros, a mocking smile on his lips. "Come to carry on with your fathers ridiculous Oath? Pure folly! Don't you see? I am all-powerful. Nothing can get in or out of my mighty stronghold without me knowing. And do you think I would entrust something as precious as a Silmaril to these brutes?" He gestured at the Orcs, who looked at each other and shrugged their bewilderment. "But anyway, I'll find someway you can help me. There is always a way. It is only a matter of finding it." The way he said it filled Maedhros with dread, and the cold light in his eyes wavered. An age seemed to pass before Morgoth spoke again, almost lazily, Maedhros thought. "The dungeons for him. Oh yes, we shall have some sport with this one, I think." Something in the casual way he said it made the young Elf-Lord's blood turn to ice. And the undercurrent of anticipation made his throat go dry. He struggled even more frantically, abandoning any thoughts of keeping his reputation. All that mattered now was to stay alive, and if he stayed here, that wouldn't be an option. The guards dragged him off, depositing him none too gently in the small damp stone room that was to become his cell until Morgoth could find a 'use' for him. Maedhros was not looking forward to the time ahead.

He sat in silence, sadly reflecting on the days before, that already seemed so long ago. He wished that he had never persuaded his brothers to go ahead with the ill-fated entreat with Morgoth. He could remember it vividly, from the delicately and skilfully carved designs on the oaken table and chairs, to the individual expressions on each of his six brothers' faces. The flashback gave him no comfort, however. Instead, he writhed inside, wishing he could go back and change it.

Their father, Feanor, had been slain in an unfortunate skirmish not one hour before, and there were some rather important matters to be discussed, not least avenging him, so the brothers met together, but only six of them showed up initially. Suddenly, Caranthir, the brother known to be the harshest and had inherited his father's fiery temper more than any of the others, stormed into the room, looking very fierce. In the end, they managed to get it out of him that Morgoth was asking for a treaty, even to the surrender of one of the Silmarils. There were three of these beautiful jewels, and ever since Morgoth had stolen them from Feanor, their maker, he had sworn to pursue, and if needs be, kill, anyone who had one in their possession. As his last wish, he had taken it onto his seven sons to uphold it. The brothers knew that Morgoth would never give one up, and wondered what the Dark Lord was planning, and what they should do about it.

"Meet him in open warfare!" cried Amrod and Amras, who were twins, and the youngest of all the brothers.

"Do not even speak of such folly!" snapped Curufin, the most skilful brother, savagely. Being as clever as he was with whatever he turned his mind to, he was known to get frustrated with the younger twins' lack of common sense and general warlikeness.

"We need a bigger army, whatever we are going to do," said Maglor, who was renowned as a great singer and player of the harp, even surpassing the Teleri, the Sea Elves. The Foamriders wove into their sweet music the sorrow and enchantment of the waves; it was not easy to compete, let alone surpass them.

"Who would join with us?" asked Celegorm, the most gentle, bitterly. It was a fair statement. Their father, Feanor's, Oath had brought serious trouble, and made him and his sons many enemies. The Kinslaying was one of the main problems. The Teleri were peaceful, and kind, so the Noldor's course of action provoked a huge outcry. The sons of Feanor themselves had few allies, even among their people, for most of the Noldor repented of the deed, and held the seven brothers responsible for their father's actions. But what nobody seemed to realise was that they repented too. They had regretted it and were as sorry as much as anyone else, maybe more, for after all, their father was the one who was leading the Noldor in the first place. It was while musing sadly on this that Maedhros got his idea.

"Why not feign to treat with him? We could arrange to meet somewhere, and agree on the size of the embassies." He paused. "We would of course take a larger embassy than agreed."

"But so would he!" protested Amras. "We should know by now that Morgoth plays by the rules about as much as Caranthir settles down to give calm counsel in a crisis!" He dodged the cuff aimed at him by his older brother.

"Then we shall have to take far more than we need. As many as we can spare. I'll represent us, and then if anything happens, you six will be left. We'll just have to make sure that nothing happens." said Maedhros briskly. "The gain of the Silmaril depends on the success of this 'treaty'. We only have one chance at this, lets not lose it."

And so their plans were laid.

But he hadn't accounted for this complete failure, and ending up in the dungeons of Morgoth. It overthrew all of their plans to overthrow Morgoth. In truth, the Silmarils were not the only reason the seven sons of Feanor wanted to get rid of him, it was for everyone else's benefit as well as their own. Morgoth was cruel, and loved to mar Middle Earth and everything in it. Maybe, just maybe by dethroning Morgoth, the brothers could finally find acceptance within their own people once more. Maedhros sighed sadly; reminiscing on older and happier times spent in his early youth with his great friend Fingon, the son of his father's half brother.

But Morgoth's interference with the Noldor and Feanor's dreadful Oath had soon put a stop to that friendship, and many others, between their houses and that of Fingolfin's younger brother, the wisest and most learned in lore and counsel of the three, Finarfin.

Meanwhile, Maedhros' brothers had received a messenger from the Dark Lord himself, stating that they would give Maedhros back if they and the rest of the Noldor surrendered, or at least moved far away. They took some time to discuss this request.

"Of course we can't!" exploded Caranthir hotly. Celegorm put an arm around his furious brother's shaking shoulders.

"Don't be foolish." he said calmly. "You know we couldn't. We're bound by the constraints of the Oath, remember? Or did your fury put it out of your head? It would be as good as breaking it to surrender, and you remember what we swore by in our madness," he added, shuddering. The others agreed. They all regretted the wretched Oath now, and it was impossible to break it or get out of it without the wrath of all the Valar and the whole of Middle Earth falling upon them.

"And besides," said Maglor, who was closest both in age and friendship with Maedhros, "we all know how much Morgoth keeps his word. Look at what he did to poor Maedhros in the first place."

The brothers nodded solemnly, and there was silence for a while, but a slow grin spread over each of the twins' faces. They looked at each other, winked, and nodded, before turning innocently to Maglor.

"So we defy him then?" asked Amrod. Maglor looked puzzled. "I suppose so." He shrugged. "Why?"

"We'll deal with the messenger." And, not waiting for any reply, the warlike twins raced off. Curufin frowned, thoughtfully.

"What are those two up to? Someone's going to catch it hot." He whistled, shaking his head in mock despair. "I wouldn't like to be that messenger when Amrod and Amras find him!"

Maglor said nothing. He disapproved of this. "Someone please remember what's going on here," he murmured, no one hearing him. "This isn't a game."

In about ten minutes they returned. Celegorm smiled at them, knowing them better than any, having hunted with them in the nearby woods and dark forest many times.

"What have you done, you rascals? You did send him back, didn't you?"

"Of course." replied Amras, with a villainous grin that clearly implied he had done nothing of the sort.

"Missing his head." added Amrod, with a grin equally as wicked.

"Then how did he get back!?" yelled Caranthir, whose temper was apt to get the better of him (and not without good reason sometimes, thought Maglor). "You've jeopardised everything! Valar know we try, but when you two call down the wrath of Morgoth himself on us, what are we supposed to do?" He leapt out of his chair, eyes blazing like hot coals, and who knows what he would have done to the twins if he had caught them, but Celegorm and Maglor restrained him and set him firmly back in his chair, where he stayed with a glint in his eye, that said he was only going to hear them out, and then woe betide them.

"We told you, we sent him back!" said Amrod, looking rather hurt. "By the time we got there, another Orc had turned up, to see where the last one had got to. So we gave the original messenger's head to him, just to show that there were no hard feelings."

Amras forgot the innocent act and laughed. "You should have seen his face! He didn't know what to say! He just looked at it in a puzzled sort of way and went off without a word! You know that face that Orcs use when they're thinking. It was hilarious!"

Celegorm couldn't help but laugh. No one seemed to notice Maglor's worried glances.

Afterwards, the brothers fortified a large camp in a nearby land called Hithlum, where they stayed a long time after.

When Morgoth received the messenger, and the head, back, he was absolutely furious.

"So this is their attitude, is it?" he thundered, rattling the ceiling so violently that Maedhros was terrified it would cave in and sat cowering in a corner. "I'll teach them a lesson they won't forget in a hurry!"

He promptly took Maedhros, who made no attempt to hide his fear this time, as the Dark Lord muttered fiercely under his breath with eyes like fire, and, by unknown means, hung the terrified Elf to the face of a precipice upon Thangorodrim, the Mountain of Tyranny. Maedhros was hung by a band of steel on the wrist of his right hand, and grimly prepared himself for the worst time of his life.

In happier places, rumour came to the camp of the sons of Feanor of Fingolfin's arrival, who had crossed the Grinding Ice, Helcaraxe, enduring almost every peril besides the Dark Lord himself.

These rumours held truth, for the host of Fingolfin marched through Mithrim, and as they passed, the Sun rose for the first time, in the West, and the servants of Morgoth fled. The great company passed unopposed through Dor Daedaloth, which is 'Land of the Shadow of Horror', not without reason, and smote upon the gates of Angband. Maedhros heard the clamour, amid his great torment, and cried out in sheer desperation, not for the first or last time, but his voice was lost in the echoes of stone.

Then, receiving no answer, the host of Fingolfin turned back towards Mithrim and Hithlum, but stayed well away from the sons of Feanor, for Fingolfin too held the sons the accomplices of their father, which the twins especially had never thought was exactly fair, since many of Feanor's followers, including them, repented of all the wrongs they had committed, and would have welcomed Fingolfin, but shame stopped them.

Morgoth laughed at the division of his enemies, and made thick fogs, and hung them over Mithrim, and Hithlum. When this happened, Fingon the Valiant decided to do his best to heal the foolish feud that kept his people from uniting and defeating Morgoth for good. He did a truly renowned deed, and set off to find Maedhros, for they had been close in friendship before Morgoth's interference, and he went on his own, not telling a soul. He didn't know yet that Maedhros had never forgotten him, and he alone would never have left any of them, if his father had not prevented him from doing so.

The Elf was aided by the poisonous vapours that Morgoth had intended as a cover for his iron prison, he came unseen into the territory of his foes. He searched upon Thangorodrim for any entrance of Morgoth's hated stronghold. Finding nothing he began to sing, both in defiance of the Orcs and to help cheer himself up in this dreary place, a song of Valinor, the home of the Valar. And thus he found what he sought. For far and faint above him, he heard a voice sing back in answer. A relieved smile lit his face. It was Maedhros that sang amid his torture. But his joy was to be short-lived, however, for he could go no further than the foot of the grey, steep precipice, and he wept when he saw Morgoth's cruel device.

"Fingon?" Maedhros' voice was faint, but whether from the distance between them or Maedhros' state was impossible to tell.

"Yes, it's me, but I can't get to you. You're too high!"

Maedhros was in terrible anguish without hope, so he suggested something that had been on his mind for a long time. "Have you got your bow and arrows?" He prayed that Fingon wouldn't have been foolish enough to neglect to bring them. Both for his sake and…

Fingon frowned. "Yes," he affirmed, uncertainly. A curious sense of foreboding entered his heart. This could not be good.

Thank the Valar. Despite everything, a smile flitted across Maedhros' tired face. There was hope yet, for him. Yes… hope…"Shoot me."

"What!?"

No, don't argue! "Just do it!" he begged. "Please shoot me!"

Fingon was taken aback. "But-" he began, and then stopped. He knew that it was the kindest and only thing to do, so he strung his slender elven bow, notched an arrow, and prayed to Manwe, the Vala who ruled the skies, in a last desperate effort. He thought he could feel his heart breaking. Oh, how much easier it would be if Maedhros had perished in the battle!

"O King to whom all birds are dear, speed now this feathered shaft and recall some pity for the Noldor in their need!" he whispered to his arrow, and prepared to release, eyes closed. His prayer was granted swiftly, though not in the way he had expected. Manwe was obviously thinking of a different feathered shaft and had sent Thorondor, the great eagle, larger than any bird that ever had its nest upon the earth, with a wingspan of thirty fathoms. The majestic bird swooped low; allowing the Elf to leap onto his warm feathered back, and then bore him to the place where Maedhros hung. Maedhros was so relieved that for a moment he could ignore the pain, and smiled weakly at his old friend. But there was yet one more obstacle to overcome for the stout Fingon. For he could not release the steel band that held Maedhros' wrist to the cold rock. He could not sever it, or break it, though he tried everything he could. And Maedhros again begged for death, but Fingon flatly refused. They had been lucky that time, and were unlikely to be so again. So Fingon did the only thing he could have done in the circumstances.

"I'm sorry Maedhros, but it's the only way." he whispered as he took a small silver knife from a leathern pouch, and cut off Maedhros' hand above the wrist. Maedhros didn't particularly notice, however, because of the joy he felt at being released from the agony he had suffered, for it had been too long since he had first been hung. To be truthful, even if he had noticed, he would not have cared. What was a hand to a life? At first it had been mere discomfort, for Maedhros was strong of both body and spirit, but by the second day, it was pure torture, which, of course, Morgoth had intended it to be in the first place.

As soon as he landed on the eagle's firm back, Maedhros fell into the merciful realms of unconsciousness. Fingon turned to the eagle.

"Could you please bear us to Mithrim, where we can both be rested?" he asked, almost timidly. He was quite unused to birds as large as this one, and hoped he hadn't offended it. But the eagle graciously agreed, and they began the long flight eastwards. Fingon took his friend's head on his lap, and looked down at him. Many lines of pain and care seemed to have been smoothed away from Maedhros' fair face, and Fingon smiled, brushing the damp dark hair off his face. "It's been long since I beheld you, dear comrade, and you have changed much. Hopefully we will ride together again someday."

-


	2. Repayment

  The feud between the houses of Fingolfin and Feanor was indeed healed, and Fingon was praised in both word and song. Maedhros in time was healed also, and his body became strong again, but he never forgot his torment, and the shadow of it was always on his heart, as was the memory in his mind. He never laughed as much as he used to. He became a spectacle to behold in battle, for his hatred for Morgoth was redoubled and he knew no fear when it came to his hordes upon hordes of evil armies. He learned to wield his sword with his left hand more deadly than his right had ever been, and he and Fingon were rarely seen apart. They were either riding together on the green hills, or hunting together in the fresh woodlands, together with the twins, Celegorm, the two middle sons of Finarfin, Aegnor and Angrod, and others.

   Maedhros waved aside his claim to the kingship over the Noldor, for that is partly what the feud between Fingolfin and Feanor was about, saying to Fingolfin "If there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwe, and not the least wise." But to this, not all of his brothers in their hearts agreed, thought they held their tongues. For a while, life was fine. Maedhros and his brothers set up the watch northwards that is known as the March of Maedhros, for he was willing to let any attacks fall most upon himself, and for his part remained friends with the houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin.

   But it did not last for long.

   For soon, Fingolfin was slain in a duel with Morgoth, and marred the happiness of the reunited Noldor. So the burden of the kingship was laid upon Fingon, being the eldest son of Fingolfin. And men arrived. Some of them became Morgoth's greatest servants, though many were well meaning. Also, two more of the great battles of Beleriand were fought, Dagor Aglareb, the Glorious Battle, and the worst so far, the Battle of Sudden Flame, Dagor Bragollach. The sons of Finarfin were badly hit, and many steadfast Elves fell before the huge army Morgoth had prepared, including Angrod and Aegnor.

   But there was more to come. For then came the disastrous battle that is called the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, for no song or tale can contain all its grief. It could have been otherwise, though, for Maedhros and Fingon had planned it all out carefully. Fingon would arrive first, because his folk's dwellings were the closest, and when Maedhros arrived, he would give a signal. All would have gone to plan, had it not been for a man called Ulfang, and his sons, who were deep in the counsels of the two Lords, but had Morgoth deep in them as well. At the time Fingon arrived, they informed Morgoth, and his captain brought out a captive. Warning him that the same would happen to all the other captives they had, which were many, they hewed off his hands, feet, and head.

   This particular captive happened to be the brother of one of the elves in the front line of Fingon's host, and without waiting for anything or anyone, he joined in battle and Fingon's army followed, unable to do anything else. But they fought alone. For three days they fought, and in the third hour of the morning on the third day the hope was renewed in their hearts, for Maedhros' trumpets could be heard from far off, and at last they joined in battle. And they might even then have been successful, if Ulfang had stayed faithful. For then Morgoth loosed his last army, and there were wolves, wolfriders, Balrogs, and the father of all dragons, Glaurung. The sons of Ulfang drove against the rear of the sons of Feanor, but they never got whatever reward Morgoth had promised them, for Maglor slew the leader, and the sons of Bor, another man, in the service of Fingon, slew the rest.

   Then suddenly the sons of Feanor were assailed on three sides, and the seven brothers met in the midst of battle.

   "We'll have to retreat," panted Maglor, bleeding from countless gashes across his face and body.

   "But what about the others? There are Naugrim and Elves still fighting. What about them?" asked Amras.

   "Take as many as you can find, and head for Mount Dolmed. Don't look so shocked, Maedhros," he said impatiently as Maedhros began to protest.  It would be folly to try to help Fingon now. If we could, we would, believe me." he added. This couldn't be easy for his brother, he knew that, but still! If he wasn't careful he'd pay more than just his own life for his dedication.

   So each brother found as many Elves and Naugrim, as he could, and led them to Mount Dolmed, in the East. Maedhros looked back, as the battle fell out of sight, and prayed hard that Fingon be spared. "It's my own wretched fault he's here in the first place. Curse the Oath and everything that goes with it!" he thought to himself angrily.

   Meanwhile, Fingon was having a hard time of it, with his guard dead about him, facing the high captain of all Morgoth's host, Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs. For hours they fought, neither one neither winning nor losing, until another Balrog sneaked up behind him, casting a thong of fire round him so he could not move. No matter how hard he struggled, he could not get free. Gothmog saw his chance, and brought his black axe down with all of his might upon Fingon's helm, and a white flame sprang up when it was cloven. Thus fell the High King of the Noldor, and the Balrogs beat him into the dust and trod his blue and silver banner into the mire.

   And so the field was lost.

   Maedhros, with the others in the mountains, was increasingly worried about Fingon.

   "Maglor!" he hissed, between the downcast remnant of their company.

   Maglor looked up, not wanting to have to deal with his elder brother now. "What is it?"

   He wasted no time. There was none to waste. "Where's the swiftest horse from the battle?" he asked boldly.  "Are there any fresh ones, fit to ride? Or even any that are still alive?"

   Maglor gestured to the south. "We left some over there, round that spur of rock, remember? We all changed horses so they'd be ready for the battle, and so we'd have fresh ones to ride home." Of course we didn't think this many wouldn't need them again, he added mentally. "If they're still there, you could probably borrow one." He looked suspiciously at his brother. "Are you thinking of going back to find Fingon?" It was painfully obvious. "You'll be killed!" he snapped.

   Maedhros rolled his eyes at the ignorance of his younger brother. "Have you looked back recently? Can you see any signs of smoke or battle in the sky?"

   Maglor had to admit that he didn't. "Fine. Go on then. I'll cover for you if anyone asks about you." But Maedhros was already away, searching for the horses. That brother of his was more trouble than he was worth. "He's more reckless than the cursed twins." But he only said it because he was worried.

   When he finally arrived at the battle scene, everything was over. Even the carrion crows had begun to move on. He looked this way and that, his grey eyes roving uncertainly. His heart was wrung with grief, for many of the bodies were those of Elves he knew. But there was no sign of Fingon anywhere. His progress was slow, for he didn't like to disturb the bodies of his brothers in arms.

   He found this wretched sight was worse than his torment upon Thangorodrim, for now his friends and comrades had been struck down, and he was powerless to do anything about it. At least if it were him… Maedhros cursed Morgoth and everything associated with him, in great detail, as he tethered the bright-eyed horse, oblivious to the situation, to a charred bush, on the edge of the battlefield. Then, after an hour or so of fruitless searching, his keen eyes caught sight of a clearing in the ground where it had been trampled, and he made his way swiftly and cautiously over to the wet ground.

   He knelt down, for there was material pounded into the ground. He pulled some up and found that it was stained crimson. But he still recognised it instantly as a banner, an elven banner, a very familiar one...

   "Fingon!" he whispered, horrified. He fell to his knees, clutching the stained banner close to him, and rocked back and forth, sobbing helplessly. He didn't care who saw him now. Maedhros wept until he lost track of time, but always the twilight was falling gently, enveloping the stricken landscape around, almost comforting it seemed, and the stars of Varda, Lady of the night skies, shone reassuringly down, easing his sorrow, making it that bit easier to bear. When he had exhausted his tears of grief and pain, he built a cairn of stones over the place where his dearest friend had fallen. He felt it was the least he could do, after all the ways Fingon had helped and supported him over the last few years. He only wished he could have repaid his debt to him somehow while he was still alive.

   "Farewell comrade." he said softly.

   Somewhere, hidden from view in some bush or tree behind him in the deepening dusk, a nightingale began to sing.

The End.

Of all of the sons of Feanor, Caranthir was slain in Menegroth, Celegorm and Curufin by Dior in Doriath, and Amrod and Amras in an attack upon Sirion. Maedhros and Maglor in the end did finally regain the Silmarils, or two of them, for one had been found already by the legendary Beren and entrusted to Earendil. However, when the other two were actually found, the two unfortunate brothers found that their claim to them had become void. As a result, Maedhros threw himself, and the Silmaril he held into a fiery abyss in despair and grief for all that the wretched jewels had accomplished, all for nothing in the end. But Maglor tossed his into the sea; he spent his remaining days singing in pain and regret beside the waves, never more returning to his people. 


End file.
